


The Unraveling of Jack Morrison

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Reaper76 [78]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, breaking point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Everyone has a breaking point, that invisible, unknown tipping point in their path that will tilt them over the edge and into the unknown, even Jack Morrison. With the eyes of the world on him, whispers surrounding him, and a weight that he never wanted on his shoulders, Jack knows that he's close to splintering, and it's getting harder to remember why he shouldn't.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Reaper76 [78]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1188655
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	The Unraveling of Jack Morrison

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/jdpcfy6XTB).

Jack tugged at his collar for the umpteenth time since his assistant had last straightened it, feeling as though he couldn’t breathe, although he knew that had nothing to do with the stiff, white material pressing against his throat. It wasn’t even the weight of his uniform, or the numerous awards hanging from the front, a measure of his success apparently, not that you would be able to think that if you read the countless articles that had been released today decrying his efforts with Overwatch. A perfectly, synchronised attack, done to coincide with this summit. He might have appreciated the tactics had he not been forced to continue as planned through the day of meetings, photo opportunities and speeches as though nothing had changed. While all anyone wanted to do was grill him about those articles and the claims made. His successes - military or otherwise – proving to be about as useful as the uniform they’d forced on him with the job or the pedestal they’d placed him on after the Crisis.

The people around him knew it too. Beyond the essential greetings and photos when they’d arrived for the ball that evening, he had been largely left alone, because no one wanted to be tainted by association. Not that it stopped them from watching him. There had been eyes on him all evening – the press hoping for another scandal, another chink in the armour. The politicians, weighing the worth of their links with Overwatch, even though he knew that they wouldn’t pull out, not yet at least, as this was a game, he had been playing for years now. Others watched him, calculating whether it was time to topple him or to try and recruit him, and as he abandoned his collar and took a gulp of his drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome burst of feeling against the numbness that came with the situation, he wondered how startled they would be if they knew how tempting such an offer might be.

Not that it mattered. As much as he might want to accept such an offer, walking away wasn’t an option. He’d tried it once, written his resignation and been ready to fade away into the obscurity that he had dreamed of from the moment that hated blue coat had settled over his shoulders. The meeting that had followed had been eye-opening and soul-crushing. He was a product of the military, one of the last SEP survivors and he belonged to them – his life, his success, they claimed it all, and made it as clear as possible without overt threats that they would keep their claws in him at whatever cost, and he had too much to protect.

_The Strike Team. Fareeha. Gabriel…_

He lifted his head and glanced around the room, unsurprised to find that he couldn’t find any trace of the other man. Gabriel wasn’t a guest here, but security, and he took that seriously despite Jack’s increasingly terse reminders that he could take care of himself. It wasn’t an empty concern, as his popularity fell, the threats rose, and while Gabriel had tried to hide it from him, he knew how many attempts had been made on his life. Another chain tying him to Overwatch, and the position that had been carved out around him. A place that would be his tomb if many, if not most of this room had their way and his lips curled downwards, half wishing that they would have the courage to try.

The collar was irritating him again, the alcohol – not enough to get him drunk, never enough for that thanks to SEP, was burning and fanning his irritation, and his fingers itched to hold something more than an empty glass.

He wasn’t sure what finally pushed him over the edge he had been hovering on all day. Maybe it was the flash of a camera as he took another sip of his drink, the sideways glance from the server who deliberately moved away before he could think about asking for another, the whispering coming from a group nearby, or the fact that as he stood there, he felt more vulnerable than he had in all his time in the field. The glass cracked and splintered in his grasp, glass slicing into his thumb, but he didn’t feel the pain, instead letting the broken glass fall to the ground as he turned and marched away, back taut and head held-high, deliberately deaf to the wave of conversation that followed in his wake.

*

Gabriel sighed. He had been waiting for this moment for the past hour. Not many people could see past the carefully blank expression Jack used at these events, but then they hadn’t fought a war at his side, and he had seen the growing frustration and something deeper and darker than had given him pause. He knew Jack. Knew his moods, and how much he hated the limelight, but he hadn’t quite been able to put a finger on the emotion in Jack’s face, and he had begun circling towards him, protocol be damned. He hadn’t been quick enough, and he halted as Jack dropped the glass and marched from the room, blood dripping from his hand. There was going to be hell to pay for that little stunt, and Jack would bear the brunt of it when they returned to base, but that was a problem beyond their control. Finding out what was going on in Jack’s head and making sure he didn’t walk headlong into danger was far more critical.

“Should I follow him?” Genji asked, materialising beside him and Gabriel was amused to notice a nearby server jump and squeak, spilling the tray of drinks all over herself. As soon as all eyes were on her and the spectacle she was causing, Gabriel shook his head and set down his own untouched drink.

“I’ll go.” A snort greeted his words, and he grinned, knowing that his agents were fully aware of how much he despised gatherings like this, although he would always attend, never content to trust Jack’s safety to others. “Keep an eye on things here.” The last thing they needed was an attack happening right now, but he trusted McCree and Genji to keep an eye on things, waiting for an acknowledgement from the man beside him and over the communicator before taking off after Jack.

**

No one had tried to stop him leaving, which was probably a good thing for their own safety but was another sign of how far his star had waned. In the immediate aftermath of the Crisis, if he or indeed any of the Strike Team had tried to leave a function, they had been fawned over, and asked to stay, as though people didn’t realise how hard it was for them to be surrounded by people and noise after so long fighting. Slowly that focus had shifted on to him under the banner of Strike Commander, and he hated himself for almost missing it as he marched down the steps and past the row of waiting cars.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, just that going back to the hotel room – too large, and far too fancy, a last tip of the hat to his status – was the last thing that he wanted right now. He also avoided the main entrance, not wanting anyone to try and stop him despite his previous thoughts, and it was almost entertaining how easy it was for him to slip out past the perimeter guards. Either he needed to talk to the security – as Blackwatch hadn’t been allowed to handle that part – or someone, possibly Gabriel had warned them not to stop him. Shame, he could have done with a fight right then, even if it was only verbal, anything to ease the pressure that was building in his chest.

On the opposite side of the wall, he paused and looked down at himself. At the hated blue, and the heavy, pointless medals on his chest, beginning to tremble as he began to claw at the buttons, clumsy in his rush to remove the offending item. It took longer than it should divest himself of the jacket, and he stared down at in his hands for a long moment, hesitating before tossing it back over the wall, along with his hat. There was little he could do about the dress trousers, but at least it was something. He just wished the title, and the job was as easy to toss aside as the uniform.

Still, he felt lighter, and with a rare spark of defiance, he reached up and turned off his communicator, before flipping it over and removing the back, eyes narrowing as he studied the tracker buried amongst the wires, separate from the rest of the device so that it would work even if the communicator was disabled. It was the work of a minute to disable that too, although he was reasonably sure that wasn’t what Gabriel had intended when he’d shown him how it worked, and the guilt was short-lived, as was the communicator as he dropped it onto the floor and stepped on it.

It was a futile gesture.

He had nowhere else to go, and more than enough weakness that could be exploited that meant he would have to go back, but for a while at least he wanted to pretend that he was free. _You are the property of the U.S. Military until such time as we choose to release you,_ the remembered words made him snarl, and he brought his heel down onto the device once more, as though he could break them just easily and then the turned and walked away without a backwards glance. Heading away from the majestic state building, into the city that he had only been able to glimpse through windows of the meeting rooms and car as he was ferried from appointment to appointment, a puppet on a string.

A string drawn tight and threatening to break.

****

Jack was long gone by the time Gabriel got past security, and he would have appreciated the other man’s ability to slip away undetected, were it not for the piles of folders on his desk back in Zurich, each one listing nearly a dozen threats against Jack Morrison. He knew that Jack could fight and that even without a weapon, it would be difficult to bring him down. Difficult. Not impossible, and that was what had him cursing as the guards confirmed that they had seen no sign of Strike Commander Morrison. Thanking them for their time, even as he cursed them in the privacy of his own thoughts, once again wishing that he had been in charge of the entire security for this unfortunate event because then Jack would not have escaped, he stepped away and tried Jack’s communicator. Unsurprised, but even more annoyed when it didn’t connect. _Damn it, Jack._ He could understand wanting to get away, especially after the attacks in the papers today, but this was a little too reckless.

_Far too reckless,_ he amended a few minutes later when he realised that the tracker -a safety feature that he had insisted on after a foiled abduction – had also been disabled. He would need to be sneakier in the future, as he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be winning that argument again. A quick call to McCree and Genji, had a team mobilised to search the building and grounds – Gabriel doubted that Jack would have doubled back, but then he hadn’t expected this, and he wasn’t about to risk dismissing it.

The question was, where would Jack go?

The hotel was the top of his list, after all, Jack hadn’t had much chance to discover any other places in the city, something he had caught the blond grumbling about during one of their fleeting opportunities to exchange more than a greeting during the day. And that was what made him hesitate. Strike Commander Jack Morrison would have returned to the hotel, but Jack’s reactions in the ballroom, and his decision to slip his leash entirely, told him that it wasn’t the Strike Commander he was dealing with right now.

It was Jack.

Jack, whose frustration with Overwatch and his job, and the restraints that governed every inch of his life had been bubbling up more and more lately. Gabriel had teased him about it, pointing out that he was the one who had taken the job – and immediately regretting the jibe, because Jack’s eyes had turned glacial, and it had been like sitting opposite a stranger. Jack had apologised later, writing it off as a bad day, but Gabriel had never repeated the joke because there had been a shadow in Jack’s eyes when he’d apologised. Not quite a lie, but something that he couldn’t share. A secret that Gabriel for all his efforts hadn’t been able to unravel, but that had left him feeling as though he was waiting for something, a breath that couldn’t quite be taken, and now as he stood there unsure of where Jack would go in his current mood he couldn’t help but wonder if he had waited too long.


End file.
